


The Decree

by Sulla



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha!Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Dubious Consent, Knotting, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Omega Verse, Omega!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulla/pseuds/Sulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt from the kinkmeme:</p><p>Omegaverse where there are popluation problems and omegas have to have children. John is outed as an Omega and Sherlock tries to convince John that they could be happy together if they mated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a return from the writing dead fic for me. Hopefully it doesn't suck too much.
> 
> Note: You can find this story translated into Korean by Ruth at http://blog.naver.com/orlijah/40177314294
> 
>  
> 
> Note: It has been pointed out to me that there are problems with the status of betas and their baby-having potential. So, I'm going to make a few changes to the effect that John was an adopted child. Hope that pleases the few people who noticed and commented. Thanks for bringing it to my attention. Cheers!

John Watson had been flatsharing with Sherlock Holmes for just under two months when the following decree came down from above:

xXx

Due to the disturbing and lingering population decline in the United Kingdom, henceforth all omegas are to produce a minimum of one child over their lifetime. All currently un-bonded omegas must bond and breed within six months of this notice. Upon bonding, and then upon conception and confirmation of pregnancy, all omegas must register their current status with the Ministry of Population.

Failure to follow this directive will result in incarceration in a Breeding Camp, where a suitable alpha will be paired with the omega. 

From this point forward, so-called "scent masking" hormone sprays are listed as Grade 1 Substances and are banned and outlawed from public use. Penalty for use is minimum 2 years imprisonment, with a maximum of 10 years. 

Heat suppressants will be allowed for use only by bonded alpha/omega couples who have a minimum of one child, and are now only available by prescription from a certified omegolgist.  
xXx

Panic. 

All-prevading, sense-scrambling panic. What was he to do? John dropped the newspaper to the table beside him and lurched up the stairs to his room. Closing the door behind him, and sure that Sherlock had left the flat earlier to follow a lead on missing jewellery, he got down on his hands and knees and pried up piece of the floorboards. He stared for the moment at the glittering bottles of his stash.

John Watson had lived as a beta since his late teens, when his uncle had taken him aside after a particularly nasty episode with a pack of marauding alphas. John had managed to escape unscathed (and unbred), despite his hormonal instincts telling him to simply submit and present. The only reason he'd had the chance to flee was the fact that the alphas, as usual for their kind, all began to fight each other over who would be the first to knot him. As the alphas scrapped, John staggered into the brush alongside the road and cut across the fields until he made it home, itching and aching and sodden with lubrication right down to his trouser bottoms. He had no wish to be someone's possession, and to lose his chance at doing something with his life. He would not be some idiot's broodmare!

Luckily his uncle had been visiting at the time, and rather than chide him about "taking his bloody time" to bond, as his parents tended to do, he informed John of the scent masking sprays that were available to the reluctant omega, as well as the heat suppressants that eased the trauma of estrus. His uncle of course in the process outed himself to his nephew as an omega, as John had been convinced that the man was a beta, like his own parents. John was, after all, an adopted omega child in a family of betas. But it was a secret John was happy to keep.

Perhaps it was because they weren't omegas themselves that his parents were so unsympathetic. They had no clue what it was like to go heat after heat, 3 or 4 times a year, into a state of near madness. Into a state that repelled John's very sense of self. He _lost control_ when he was in heat, and it was horrendous. Not only were the heats unpleasant physically, and often lasting as long as 7-10 days, but even if he had given into the urge and mated with an alpha, he had to fear pregnancy, and the fear of forced bonding.

So John had stepped forth into life, having convinced his unsure parents not to out him, and everything had been going fine, through medical school, the army, and even now his new, fledgeling life as a Doctor and blogger to his beta flatmate's Consulting Detective. He hadn't had a heat in 20 years, he couldn't imagine what one would be like now; he doubted he would live through such an episode intact. 

He had not thought about it before, but the decree would out all sorts of people. Betas living as alphas, omegas living as betas, whatever permutation, this was going to disrupt the very fabric of society for several months until things evened out. Then again, John thought with an internal snort of laughter, it's not like there was a single alpha on earth who would actually _choose_ to live as a beta. There was nothing more proud on earth than a human alpha. This in turn made him think of Sherlock; the man conducted himself as if he was an alpha in nearly every way, yet he clearly scent-identified as a beta. Otherwise, of course, John would never have considered living with him; living with a beta was the safest route to take. If he lived with another unbonded omega, too much attention would be drawn to him, as he would pick up the other omega's scent. And the very thought of living with an alpha, who could at any time unravel his ruse and trap him into a bonding, was beyond the pale.

Yes, living with a beta, even one like Sherlock, was the best way to go. But this decree... how to handle it? What on earth was he going to do?  
oOo

Sherlock returned to 221B and upon entering the flat, he was assaulted by the sharp scent of fear. Immediately on guard, he silently checked the downstairs for any hint of movement. He stopped by John's chair, and stared at the open page of the newspaper. It was open to the page with that thrice-damned decree. Mycroft had warned him that it was coming, and that he had no way to stop it, and hinted strongly that Sherlock should "get his affairs in order". 

Sherlock knew very well what his prat of a brother meant and had roundly cursed him before hanging up on him. 

All of this. All of it. Was Not Good. He didn't need John to tell him that. In fact he very much feared what John _would_ say about it. He stood by the newspapers and listened for any hint of what was going on upstairs. Still nothing, but fear - rank and nasty.

Of course Sherlock knew John was an omega. He wasn't that dense that a combination of scent-maskers and heat suppressants could fool him. Not that it was anything John was _doing_ per se, to tell the truth of it, it's just the Sherlock observed more than most. And unfortunately, so did his elder brother, which is where Mycroft thought he should stick his nose in where it wasn't wanted. His brother wanted Sherlock to admit to being the alpha he was, and take John as his mate.

However much Sherlock might have liked this scenerio (and when he thought about it, he discovered he liked it more than he would like to admit), he knew that John would have nothing of it. John lived as a beta, and went to great lengths to maintain that falsehood, and this alone told Sherlock how much John hated being an omega. Sherlock was perfectly aware that John had checked and cross-checked that Sherlock was a beta before he was willing to move in with him; his behavior around unbonded alphas was also a hint. It's not that John was _afraid_ of them - he was simply more on guard, and the contempt he held for them and their primal lusts couldn't be more obvious.

Sherlock was somewhat unsure as how to proceed. He had hoped that the decree would take longer to materialize, but that hope had obviously been in vain. 

He and John needed to have a little talk.

John was still staring blankly at the little vials and bottle that his hiding spot held when he caught Sherlock's fresh scent in the flat. Usually he would have heard him before he would have smelled him - Sherlock tended to enter the flat with a florish and with much sound and commotion. But by the time John scented him, he was already halfway up the stairs to John's room. 

For a moment he felt a fresh spike of panic run through him, and he started to grab the floorboards to put them back into place just as the door opened.

"No need to do that, John," Sherlock said from the doorway. John slumped.

"How did you know?"

"I think the question is more 'how long have you known', John," replied Sherlock, leaning against the doorframe, pulling his leather gloves from his hand one finger at a time, not meeting John's eyes.

John huffed. "How long, then?"

"The moment we met."

John scowled. "That's ridiculous. How could you know? No one but my family knows."

Sherlock finally met his eyes. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to?"

"Good point," John muttered, quickly dropping his gaze.

"The main thing is that you've always smelled like the scent masking sprays that I use myself. There's a scent-signature that is tied to both varieties."

John froze. "That you - that you use? But... what, you're an omega too?" John asked incredulously.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I said 'both varieties'. Try the other direction?"

John paled.

"No."

"Yes."

"No, I would know. I would know if you were an alpha. I would _know_!" John was nearly shouting by this point.

"John? Hush. Do you want everyone to know? Right now? Without preparation?"

The red flush that had began to gather in John's cheeks began to fade again. "But Sherlock, why? Alphas _never_ choose to live as betas!"

"Well, clearly _I_ do."

Silence fell for a few moments. John stared down at his bottles. "Sherlock, what should I do? This decree... it's going to ruin my life! I can't live as an omega! I can't bear it! And how can I continue to live here? What's going to happen when I go into heat? I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I'm not looking to be bonded, or to have children, government be damned!"

Sherlock had already given this some thought, having been forewarned by Mycroft. "I'd say you should keep living as a beta as long as you can-"  
At this, John's face lit up.

"-but you'll be out of the spray in 4 days, and I'll be out of mine in 6. The government has aready moved to clear all such sprays from the stock of the local chemist's. Production of it will go underground, undoubtedly, but it will probably be expensive, untested and unsafe. I'm sorry, John, but I think you're going to have to live with this."

As Sherlock talked, John's face fell slowly. Then, with a grimace, he gathered himself visibly. "Yes, yes, you're undoubtedly right. I've been living on borrowed time all this time anyway. I'll do it. I can do this."

He gathered up his bottles from the hole in the floorboards and carried them down to the toilet, where he dumped the contents of each bottle down the drain. After a moment, Sherlock disappeared, only to return with his own stash of bottles, also dumping them down the drain. With a reluctant sigh, John let the final pills drop into oblivion - the heat suppressants could cost him his freedom now.  


After binning the bottles, they took their usual chairs in the main room. They made eye contact and held it.

"Okay, time to set out some ground rules," said John, "if I'm to remain here. Wait - do you still want me living here?"

Sherlock scowled. "Of course I do! I need you! As a collegue, I mean," he hastened to add.

Between the two of them, John and Sherlock managed to batter out some rules wherein nothing in their lives would change, but for their behavior around heats. John would lock himself up in his room and let _no one_ in, and Sherlock would do his best to keep away from the flat for those 7-10 days. Or at the very least, stay very far away from John's bedroom. On this, John was adamant. 

John knew he had only six months to find a mate and be bonded, but this he planned to put off until the last possible moment in the hopes of finding a way around the system. Sherlock did not know how to help him with this - the idea of John bonding and breeding with another alpha infuriated him, but he himself did not want children, and had never had the space in his life for a bond with someone. So the obvious answer that Mycroft so dearly seemed to want, a bonding of Sherlock with John, was not viable for either partner.

Over the next few days, Sherlock became acutely aware of the presence of an omega in his flat as John's false-scent began to fade. The odor was intoxicating, but easily denied, thankfully. Sherlock did not want to admit to himself that there might be problems with their heat arragements - he thought himself beyond such frailties as lust. He had no trouble when other omegas were in heat, why would that differ with John? The scent-masking spray had changed his outward appearance to outsiders, but had not dimmed his senses as an alpha, so there really was no change for him other than it now being really obvious to Lestrade and the other police that the man they thought to be a really stropy beta was actually an overly attuned alpha.

Sherlock watched, or rather scented, as John brought home sex aids reeking of silicone in black plastic bags and wrinkled his nose in disgust. He felt horrendously bad for John in his condition - the thought of it! Having to endure heat with nothing but plastic! Sherlock did not envy John one bit. But as the days went by, he became more and more interested in John and his movements around the flat. He found it harder and harder to let John leave the house alone. He wanted to grab the omega and scent-mark him so that no one would think of touching him. But he kept this all to himself.

Finally the day came when Sherlock woke up to the most exotic aroma he thought he had ever scented. It wafted down from John's room in fine eddies, wrapping the odour around Sherlock's thinking mind in layers of gauzy scent. 

He didn't think. He simply followed his nose to the source of the intoxicating aroma. At the head of the stairs, he found the door to John's bedroom ajar, which poked through the sodden layers of his mind as 'not safe', but such thoughts where shoved aside in an instant. He reached for the door and pushed it open a touch more...

John was sprawled on his bed, dressed only in track suit bottoms that were drenched in the anal lubrications that were sending such gorgeous messages to Sherlock's brain. He was on his front, slowly bucking his hips against the bedding beneath him. 

Without thinking, Sherlock was in the room. He swooped down and buried his head in the crook of John's neck and inhaled deeply as a single hand rubbed the sodden material over the omega's arse, trying to slip a finger under the hem, in an attempt to check John's looseness.

"Mine," he growled softly. "I want it..." 

Not knowing how it happened, from one second to the next, Sherlock was flat on his back with a wild-eyed John standing above him with what could only be called a rather impressive erection for an omega making a tent in his trousers.

"OUT!"

"But-"

"OUT OUT OUT!"

"You just smelled so..."

There was a clicking noise.

Sherlock was staring down the barrel of a gun.

"OOOOOOUT!" howled John.

Sherlock scrambled for the door, which slammed and locked behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock didn't torture himself by staying. He pounded down the stairs and took to pacing franticly around the flat's main room, running his hands through his hair, even pulling on it to the point of pain to try to get his senses back. His body was thrumming with desire. Every single fibre of his being demanded that he go right back up those stairs and take what was rightfully his. 

Underneath these urges, a current of sanity still ran, thankfully. He didn't dare go up those stairs. John was obviously in a state of intense distress, and pushing a omega in heat who happened to have a loaded gun and what appeared to be a distinct phobia of sex was something Sherlock really did know better than to do. 

He paused mid-stride as his phone bleeped with an incoming message.

_That went well - MH_

Buggering, fucking, sodding Mycroft! How many times had he told him not to put cameras in the flat? He punched out a reply.

_FUCK! OFF! MYCROFT!_

The search for the cameras could wait. The miasma of John's pheromones was increasing exponentially. He had to leave. He simply had to.

Tripping down the stairs at a run, Sherlock opened the door to 221B and was shocked to find himself face to face with two men, one with a crooked nose, the other, taller and more slender, was pushing the first man behind him. His fist was in the air, as if he had been about to pound on the door. 

They stank of pheromones, the scent of alphas who had spotted an un-bonded omega in heat and were ready to step up to the challange. Sherlock immediately knew what the problem was. John hadn't taken precautions. He hadnt taped his windows over - in fact, Sherlock had the distinct impression that the window had been open when John had decked him. Stupid! Stupid for both of them. For John not doing it, and for Sherlock not telling him he would have to do it. Sherlock sometimes forgot that this was John's first heat in 20-odd years.

The thin man dropped his fist when presented with Sherlock's snarling face. He and his compatriot exchanged scowls.

"You may live with him, mate, but he's not bonded to you," said broken nose in thick Northern accent. "So get out of the way before we break your face. That omega in there is ripe for the picking-"

Sherlock reached out with both hands and cracked the skulls of the two men together. Both staggered off onto the pavement holding their heads.

"HE'S SPOKEN FOR!" Sherlock roared, not caring who heard. He turned with a twirl of Belstaff coat and slammed the door behind him. Without conscious thought, Sherlock pulled out his erection, which hadn't abated throughout the violent episode due to the waves of omega-in-heat coming down the stairs, and quickly began to jack off. It wasn't as good as a bonding, which released pheromones that drove roving alphas away, but marking 221B as his territory should at least keep the wolves at bay and keep the flat safe for John to endure his heat in.  
Thanking god in heaven that Mrs Hudson was out of town for the weekend, Sherlock fisted himself rather violently, and in less than 30 seconds he had a knee-trembling orgasm. He gathered what ejaculate he could and rubbing it into his hands, he smeared it over the door and on the doorjamb. There. That should do it. Part of him was aware of how incredibly pissed off John would be with him for these actions, but the other part snarled and bullied it back into submission. _Mine_. 

oOo

The next few days passed in minutes that dragged for hours. John had heard the scuffle outside, and was supremely thankful for Sherlock for dealing with the invaders. The "He's spoken for" had been a little much for John's taste, even though his omega side purred and writhed in ecstacy at the statement. He wasn't _anyone's_ , never had been, and until a few days ago, thought he'd never would. 

John knew Sherlock was doing his best. He kept strangers away from the door, brought food and water for John to the top of the stairs and left them there, even though this must have been torture to him. Otherwise he confined himself to the flat, only going out for supplies such as groceries and doing copious amounts of bedding laundry that John was going through. It shocked John, under all of the heat-induced thouughts, that Sherlock could be so... domestic. 

Most important of all, Sherlock had not tried even once to enter John's room again. Any discussions between them were single-worded shouts from the top of the stairs to the bottom. Thank god for this, as John didn't know how long he could hold out.

It had started with an ache in his arsehole. He remembered it immediately from youth. Within minutes his body had begun to produce the thrice-damned lubrication that kept soaking the bedding again and again. He'd had to ask Sherlock to go out and get a plastic cover for the mattress eventually - there was just so much that after his towel supply ran out, there was no other way. He felt empty all the time, and clothing felt like it was so restrictive that by the second afternoon he'd stripped bare, and stayed like that for days, even when going to the loo. 

The sex aids he had bought himself were woefully inadequate, he thought for the umpteenth time. It didn't even begin to hit the right spots, and the knotting device at the bottom was faulty. Not that he minded that bit - that was the part that scared him about sex. Knotting meant breeding. Breeding meant pregnancy. Pregnancy meant, oh god, a child.  
At night, when he, though sheer exhaustion, was able to sleep, John was plagued with pleasent scenes of domesticity. He dreampt of a little house with a yard, the laughter of a child and the love of two men. He didn't know who the two men were, nor why the dream kept repeating. He just knew that it was a small relief from the usual fevered dreams of rock-hard alpha cocks drilling him into the mattress.  
He pushed the thought away as yet another orgasm approached. The scent of Sherlock from downstairs wafted up to him at all times, and sometimes seemed to peak and recede. He had little doubt that the man downstairs was doing the same thing he was, if not as often, then very close to that.

Moaning deep in his chest, John reached down to pull on his cock, playing with the foreskin, teasing it a little as his body ramped up to release. A fresh flood of lubrication slicked down his legs to make little puddles on the floor. He was so close! It was that damned knot, his body wanted it. 

No. That wasn't it. His body wanted a real cock. A real alpha. And until he had one, this itch, this desire to be _fucked_ would go on for another 5 or so days, and John thought he was near his breaking point. 

Suddenly an idea occured to him. The very thought brought him to the most satisfying orgasm of the day. A dribble of semen came forth from the tip of his over-worked cock, and John finally sat back down, leaving the huge dildo inside him for the time being. It soothed him, he'd learned. He turned his mind to his new idea.

Except for that first slip up, Sherlock had proved himself in control of himself, which John frankly found amazing. Perhaps he could be trusted for one more thing? 

The most important thing?

oOo

Sherlock's case work was suffering. He was days behind in his website correspondence, and Lestrade had finally stopped texting him when it became clear that he wasn't going to get an answer. Sherlock tried to distract himself with various experiments, but his heart wasn't in it. To his chagrin, he found that he in fact spent most of his time either masturbating or drifting on clouds of desire. Not to mention fighting every single instinct he had. He took care of John the best he could, and there had not been a repeat of the scene from the first day.

Thankfully his scent-marking the front door had done the trick, and they'd had no more uninvited visitors. That, wonderfully, included Mycroft. Sherlock had swept the flat for bugs and cameras, finding 8 and taking great pleasure in grinding each once into pieces on the floor. What bothered him the most, though, was the fact that Mycroft undoubtedly had a camera in John's room as well - how else had he known about their confrontation?

Sherlock growled quietly to himself at the thought of his hated alpha brother watching John's struggles through his heat. There was nothing he could do about it until John's heat was over, but he swore to himself that he would make Mycroft pay. Oh yes, he would pay. This became another distraction, thinking of all the ways he could pay his brother back for this intrusion. 

Tonight, the fifth since their confrontation, the omega-in-heat pheromones were so thick in the air it almost impeded movement. Sherlock brought supplies to John wearing a impromptu mask, as when he had initially tried to climb the stairs, he thought he was going to either pass out or break down John's door, gun be damned, and take the smaller man six ways from Sunday.

But now Sherlock was draped dramatically over the sofa, an arm thrown over his eyes, and before he knew it, he was asleep.

oOo

Sherlock was having the most wonderful dream. John had come down and without saying a word had climbed on top of Sherlock and impaled himself on Sherlock's engorged cock. The gorgeous omega was cooing and moaning with pleasure and relief, and the omega-in-heat scent rapidly changed to omega-in-coitus. It was delicious, it was delirious. The only thing that would make it better is if he could touch the gorgeous man as he rode his cock. But for some reason, he couldn't. Still within his dream, Sherlock tried and tried again to bring his hands to John's chest, to rub and play with his nipples, but he was denied.

"mmmm... don't struggle so, Sherlock. I'll let you touch me if you will agree with me on a few ground rules..."

Sherlock jerked awake at the voice whispering in his ear. It wasn't a dream, of course it wasn't - it was too fantastic for that! John was in all his naked glory, easing himself up and down Sherlock's rigid cock - being careful to never take him all the way in, but still going deep enough to turn Sherlock into a puddle of jelly.

"Wh- how did you-" stuttered Sherlock, pulling on his hands, which he could see were bound together and tied gently above his head. His pajama bottoms had been eased down to release his cock for John's use.

"How did I get you in this position? I'm sorry Sherlock," gasped John, "I tried to wake you, but you were dead asleep and I couldn't wake you. And you were moaning and calling my name and thrusting your hips and your cock... oh god, your cock was calling to me... I needed it... I'm so sorry I did this without your knowledge but please forgive me I'm just so bloody desperate..." John trailed off, running one hand up Sherlock's chest to play with his nipples, and using the other to maintain his distance from Sherlock's hungry knot.

As far as Sherlock was concerned, it was all water under the bridge. If he'd had his choice, he'd been fucking John into the woodwork for the past 5 days. All he could focus on now was the tight, hot, rippling channel that hugged his cock like a lover. The only thing he wanted was to bury his face in John's neck and _smell_ him. And if he was being truthful, he wanted to bite that neck. He wanted to bond with John - which was a first. He'd never wanted to bond with another human being before, especially not an omega. But this was _John_.

"John. John, you have to - uh! You have to listen to me! Untie me! I have to have you John, I have to have you _now_!"

John chuckled between gasps, and brought his body down to kiss Sherlock for the first time. It was sloppy and full of teeth and tongue, and just simply _perfect_. "You _are_ having me, Sherlock, can't you feel it?" he asked, clamping down his internal muscles on Sherlock's throbbing cock.

"GAH! No, but yes, but no..." panted Sherlock, trying to keep a straight mind with all that was happening. "I need to fuck you into the sofa. I need to flip you and fuck you from behind. I need to bite you... let me... let me bond with you John..."

At this last, John stopped moving. Sherlock whimpered at the loss of friction. "No Sherlock, I'm not... I'm not... ready to bond. I just... can't. This is why I've got you tied up - I didn't think I'd be able to prevent you from flipping me and bonding with me. And I knew that was what you want. I'm just not ready. And I can't let you knot me either. I know, I know," John soothed, as Sherlock whined rather pathetically. He knew Sherlock would hate himself for it.

"I know, I almost want it too. But I'll not be bred, especially not unbonded."

Sherlock was desperate for the moment to begin again, so he started thrusting upwards with his hips, hoping to spur the omega on. "Okay John, I understand. But why - why _this_ all of a sudden? After all of your avoidance of me?"

John flushed in a way that Sherlock would almost call pretty - though not to John's face, as he'd be asking for a shot to the nose. The omega paused for a moment, then answered.

"I thought, with your level of control, maybe we could find a way to ease my heat for both of us. You can fuck me in any way you want, as long as you don't knot me at the end. Or bite my neck for the bond. Do you think you could agree to those terms?" John asked, with a swivel of his hips that had Sherlock rolling his eyes into the back of his head.

"Yes, god!"

"Promise me those things."

"I - ah - promise you I won't ... uh - knot you, or, knot you or, or bond with you-"

John smiled hugely and bent down to kiss Sherlock's lips.

"...until you ask me to." Sherlock finished. John paused one inch from the alpha's lips. Oh, the gall of the man! "Fine. Until I ask for it. On that cold, cold day in hell."

Sherlock laughed and they kissed again. "Untie me?"

John did so, and in a flurry of movement, John found himself on his elbows and knees on the floor with a randy alpha plowing his hole. But, plowing it carefully. He never tried once to go for John's neck, and John looked over his shoulder to watch as Sherlock kept one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, where his knot would inflate, and keep it from entering John's body. 

The scent they were making together was driving them to new heights of pleasure. The rug was quickly becoming stained with John's juices as they dripped down his thighs, and Sherlock knew he was near his peak. He angled himself purposefully to the area John seemed to enjoy the most, and wrapped a hand around him to tug at his cock and balls. It barely took a few strokes before John was shooting ribbons of come across the rug. The contractions in John's passage milked Sherlock to the point of orgasm and beyond. 

Pulling out quickly so that as little of his semen as possible ended up inside John, Sherlock grabbed one of their shirts and wrapped it around the head of his cock, to catch the semen that would continue to pump out of him for some time. At least he caught it before it was stuck in John! Time for laundry again though, he thought with a smirk.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty PG-13 - okay maybe R, but no worries, we'll fix that in the next chapter :)

John woke up two days later on the floor of his bedroom, alone. He was clear-headed for the first time in what felt like forever, and his body ached from head to toe. His arse and his genitals were too tender to even contemplate touching, and he was covered in his own lubrication and a good amount of Sherlock's semen. Well, as long as not too much of it was _inside_ of him, that was fine with him. He revelled in the combined scents for a moment, and before he could stop himself, he was up, climbing onto his bed and sniffing the sheets for any lingering alpha-scent.

God, what was he doing? John forced himself to abandon the bed and bent his mind to where Sherlock could have gone. He thought he could smell that the man was still in the flat, but he wasn't 100% sure that wasn't just a residual scent-trace from all of their frenzied fucking. 

But good lord, what a fuck that man was! John had never had a better lover. Not surprising, of course, as he'd only dated betas before, but this was beyond the pale. A good portion of it was a sensual blur, but what he did remember was pleasure upon pleasure, and even though they had to withhold themselves from what most alpha/omega couples said was the best part of sex, the knotting and the regular re-dedicating of their bond, it was more than John could have asked for.

And Sherlock, shockingly, had been a gentleman thoughout. Not once did he try to knot John, and not once had he tried to bite him. John smirked to himself for a moment, thinking of how the man had tried to "discreetly" rub his expelled semen into John's skin in between bouts, and John had not been overly impressed with _that_ , but he'd eventually allowed it because it just smelled so _good_.

Unfortunately, creeping back into his mind was the deadline set in place by the decree. He had over 5 months to figure out what to do, and set his affairs in order. He had a base fear of whatever the government was terming a 'breeding camp', the words themselves conjuring images of prison bars and forced mating. And yet beyond that - how could he bond himself to someone? Who on earth could he mate with? Well... yes, there was Sherlock, but he was afraid that somehow their friendship would be compromised, and that was the last thing he wanted. Plus, it's not like the man really _wanted_ to bond with John in the first place, right? His interest in John had only appeared with John's heat, and that was purely a biological thing. Sherlock had made it clear when they first met - he was not looking to bond with anyone, which had suited John just fine.

John suddenly realised that he was standing naked in front of the window of his room. He only hazily remembered closing it and gaffer-taping the edges of it at Sherlock's shouted demands from the bottom of the stairs on that first day. Something about his scent drawing riff-raff to the area. John pulled the curtains closed for his modesty - now that he _had_ some.

Well, wherever Sherlock was, it was time for John to shower.

Sherlock was grumpily trying to catch up on all his emails and texts. He and John had apparently missed out on a choice case, and a few half-decent ones. One good thing was that there was solid radio-silence from Mycroft. Sherlock would have hoped that his brother had finally learnt his lesson, but he knew better. The place would be bugged again the next time they left the flat, he was quite sure. He cursed the man roundly under his breath.

A fresh wave of John's scent reached his nose, and Sherlock knew the man was on the move - to the upstairs bathroom, it seemed. Sherlock knew John was now fully out of heat now; if John's scent didn't tell him that, then the fact that he didn't want to ravish the omega on first scenting was a big enough hint.

A smile crooked the corner of Sherlock's mouth as he pounded out another razor-sharp email to one of his readers. He could detect how much John smelt of Sherlock. The way their scents blended together was heavenly. As he realised this, he scowled slightly. What was he thinking? 

Sherlock had never been one for sentimentalities, and that's surely what this was! The alpha did not _want_ to bond and breed with an omega, that was why he'd gone to such lengths to disguise himself as a beta. Not only was he spared the usual posturing that occurred between alphas, but he also was safe from the horror of an omega in heat presenting themselves to him. That had happened more than twice, and he'd never felt so repelled. Mycroft had had his hands in the situation two of the times - otherwise how else would two coveted beings - non-bonded omegas - end up in his presence? The fat bastard never stopped trying to get Sherlock to bond and produce offspring. But to Sherlock, The Work was his life partner, and he liked it that way just fine.

But as he sniffed delicately at the odors coming down the stairs from the bathroom with more interest, Sherlock found himself thinking. What about John? What was it _about_ John? John was perfect. It was the only word that worked for Sherlock. The man had nerves of steel, was a perfect shot, a great companion and kept Sherlock on the right track. Would it be so bad to be bonded to him? Especially since the alternative was that he would be bonded to another alpha?

With the thought came instant snarling. Sherlock's mood went black. No. John would not become another's omega. He was _Sherlock's_. 

Okay. They definitely needed to have a conversation.

Suddenly from downstairs he heard the lock turn and the door open for the first time in days. Mrs. Hudson was back. There was a pause as the older beta woman stopped in the hallway.

"Sherlock," she shouted in a peeved sort of voice, "what the _hell_ did you do to the doorjam? Eww!"  
Sherlock smirked anew.

The chance for the two men to talk was taken out from under them by a call from Lestrade, begging Sherlock to come out of the hole he was hiding in and get his arse to his most recent crime scene. Sherlock yelled up to John just as the omega was trotting down the stairs in a fresh jumper and trousers, smelling of his shaving gel. Sherlock had showered and changed earlier, so it was not an issue for him. He grabbed his coat and threw it on, thinking how much he'd like to comment on how much more he liked their combined sex-scent than that horrid gel from the chemist's. But he knew John would have felt it was inappropriate, so he didn't mention it.

Their arrival at the crime scene created a bit of a scene of it's own.

"Well aren't you two a bundle of surprises?" snarked Donovan. "Anderson, you owe me 10 quid. The freak _is_ an alpha. And what's this? Watson, when did you become an omega?"

John started to speak but Donovan held up her hand. "No wait. I can guess. The same time the Detective Inspector became one."

John was gobsmacked as he looked over at Lestrade, who gave him a little wave and shrugged. He turned to Sherlock, whose face was totally impassive. "Yes," he said to John's unasked question, "I've known for some time. Those scent-sprays were ubiquitous."

Anderson chose that moment to appear at John's shoulder. "That's codswallop. You found out by going through our records, didn't you?"

John was startled by the growling that emerged from Sherlock, confused for a moment as to what was causing it. Oh. That's right - Anderson was an alpha.

Anderson placed his hand on John's shoulder and the growling grew louder and deeper, and Sherlock's face was marred by a lip curled in a snarl.

"Don't. Touch. Him."

Anderson laughed. "He's unbonded, Sherlock, anyone can smell that. So what if getting to know your friend might be something I could become interested in?"

John ducked his shoulder out from under Anderson's hand as Sherlock stepped up into Anderson's space.

"Stop it boys; Sherlock, he's just winding you up!" cried Lestrade from the other side of the body they were supposed to be looking at. "Anderson, get back to work. Sherlock, get over here and do your thing."

After a long moment, the two alphas parted resentfully, and Sherlock turned his blazing intellect to the case at hand. John sighed in relief and shot a thankful glance at Greg. So the man was an omega like him, who had lived as a beta. He never would have guessed!

John moved over to stand by Lestrade to get another angle to view the corpse as Sherlock worked, and he suddenly scented something. Lestrade was a recently bonded omega! The freshness of it was clear as day. The man smelled like he'd definitely made the bond with some alpha within the last few days.

John wasn't sure what the protocol on this was. Should he congratulate the man? Did the others know? Surely they could smell it too... and there was something really familiar about that scent... he couldn't put his finger on it.

"So," he said softly when no one else seemed to be listening, "am I to assume congratulations are in order?"

Greg flushed and nodded with a startlingly happy smile.

"Anyone I know?"

The flush grew deeper. "Can't you tell? Of all people, I thought you and Sherlock would be able to tell..."

John felt confused. "I don't know about Sherlock, but I have no clue who you've bonded with. I smell something... familiar, but that's it."

From down by the body: "Mycroft."

The way Sherlock said it was almost bored.

John had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. "Mycroft? No. You're serious?"

Greg nodded,"yep, he bit me just three days ago. We've been dating for some time, and with the decree... well, you know. Don't want to end up in the breeding camps, and Mycroft has been very good to me. We fit well together."

John smiled at the unrestrained happiness on Lestrade's face. "Well that's wonderful, Greg. I hope you'll be very happy together."

"Thanks. Have you decided what you are going to do? Honestly, I never would have pegged you for an omega."

John's smile left his face slowly. "No, no real idea yet."

He watched Lestrade look from John to Sherlock and back again. "Surely..."

"No," John cut in. "We're just friends." He could tell Sherlock was listening intently from the set of his shoulders.

"Doesn't smell that way..." Greg whispered, igniting a flush that began to creep up John's neck.

"No? Well... you know... we do live together..."

"John? Seriously? It's not that kind of smell."

John gulped. "Oh. Well... you know. We kind of - well - worked something out for my heats."

"Aha."

"But it's nothing serious!"

"Uhm-hm."

"Really."

"Sure! Whatever makes you happy, mate. Just don't forget that deadline though, okay? I don't want to have to come out and get you to take you to a breeding camp. Those places are not a place you want to be."

At that moment, Sherlock stood up like a jack-in-the-box. "Alright I know all I need to know here - run a tox screen on her and check her house for a poodle with hair that has been dyed blue."

"What?" cried both John and Lestrade.

Sherlock ignored them. "Come along John, we've got places to go and people to see."

Without looking back he strode off with John almost at a run trying to keep up with him. By the main road outside, Sherlock stuck his hand in the air and a taxi appeared as usual as if by magic, as they tended to do in London. They scrambled inside and sat side by side. 

They were silent for long moments. Then they both happened to turn and glance at each other at the same time. The second their eyes met, they dissolved into laughter.

"Mycroft? Never in a million years..." started John.

Sherlock shook his head with a ruefull smile, and unthinkingly dropped a hand on John's knee. "I knew there was something up though. I haven't heard from Mycroft since your heat started. That was totally unlike him, not to be sticking his nose into our affairs..."

John snorted, "Especially as our affairs actual became an affair..."

Laughter again. John sidled a little closer to Sherlock's side, until they were hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. He watched with growing lust as the hand on his knee began stroking him, squeezing him, and sliding slowly towards his crotch. Sherlock leaned the last little bit over and placed his nose at the junction of John's neck and shoulder.

"You smell _divine_ " he muttered. He nosed around John's neck for a bit, scenting him with his own odor as he inhaled the omega's intoxicating aroma. John was a little uneasy with Sherlock's teeth so near the back of his neck, but he trust the man implicitly, especially since John was not currently in heat, and therefore was not sending out waves of mind-scrambling fuck-me-now scents. So he allowed it and even enjoyed it. His cock was certainly enjoying it.  
"Where are we... where are we going?" asked John. 

"Mm. Yes. I need you to do some checking of the data at Bart's, and I'll be needing to talk to Molly. This case shouldn't take long."

John sighed. "That's a relief. I still don't feel rested from our... activities."

Sherlock squeezed his thigh with a smirk and said nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be porn.

Three weeks later, John and Sherlock found themselves in a sort of limbo. They felt closer to each other, and expressed this in the odd touches and scent-marking, but no further progress was made in any direction. Sherlock had now decided that he _did_ want to bond with John, but that John didn't want him. And for his part, John was becoming steadily more depressed and anxious as the weeks passed by, worrying about the deadline, and convinced that Sherlock would never want to bond and breed with anyone anyway, even if John did bring it up.

Sherlock was noticing changes in John which worried him. The man was having nightmares that not only woke Sherlock up all the way downstairs, but his mind seemed completely absorbed by something. Sherlock was not the most emotionally intuitive of people, but he knew John was weathering a huge life choice, and Sherlock would be there for him one way or the other. 

Finally, after four solid weeks of anxiety and depression. Sherlock decided to go for it. Ok, right. He steepled his hands together. What did wooing couples do? He bent his mind to it.

And _that_ is how John Watson found himself at work, being presented with a bouquet of 24 red roses (thorns intact) in front of staring patients and co-workers.

John took the flowers with good grace with thanks to the positive comments of the people around him, and went back to the privacy of his office to check the card that came with it. He opened it with a feeling of growing tension.

BOND WITH ME.

SH

John stared at the card, somehow not surprised that this had happened. No, actually he was _very_ surprised. Sherlock, being romantic? Had that cold, cold day in hell actually come? It certainly seemed so.

He grabbed his mobile and punched in a message to Sherlock.

**Is this a joke? JW**

Several long minutes passed. He was pretty sure Sherlock was back at the flat - he would have texted John if he was going out on a case. He had suddenly started being concientious ever since John's heat, and it was nice, but kind of freaked John out, it being such a change from his prior behavior. His phone finally bleeped.

**No. SH**

Huh. Well, this was...new... He had another thought.

**These roses. They really came from you? And the card? JW**

Faster reply this time.

**Yes. SH**

John laughed shortly, rather relieved it wasn't someone playing a trick on him or something more sinister. But did this really mean what the note said? How could Sherlock, that cold thinking machine, want to bond with anyone at all, especially John?

Wait, that wasn't fair. Sherlock _wasn't_ just a cold thinking machine, especially not of late. He now replied when spoken to every time now, and played beautiful music on his violin at the bottom of the stairs without a word when John woke up from his nightmares. He no longer demanded John hand him things when they were right next to the man, and even seemed to be trying to keep food and rotting body parts in seperate parts of the fridge now without being asked. Is it possible that he had been missing something this whole time?

Was Sherlock _wooing_ him? John's mind boggled at the thought. Crap, how should he reply now? He drummed his fingers on the desk when a knock on the office door brought him back to his surroundings.

"Dr. Watson, are you ready for your next patient?"

Right, right, he was at work. "Just give me two minutes, then send them in," he replied.

 **We'll talk when I get home JW**  
It was right then that he suddenly felt a dripping down his left leg. Oh fuck.  
He was going into his second heat.  
Thank god his next patient was a bonded omega.

John was beginning to sweat profusely in the back of the cab on the ride home. Before he had left the office, after shifting his remaining patients over to an understanding Sarah (a beta, but she knew how heats could be dangerous in their enviroment), he had rushed to the loo and stuffed several wads of loo-roll down his pants in the hope of not making a mess on the way home. He hadn't dared take public transit, as his scent was increasing by the second, and his pheromones were likely to at the very least dizzy the surrounding passengers or at the very worst start a riot. 

He mopped the back of his neck with his handkerchief while staring out the window. He kept catching the taxi driver, a male beta, staring at him in the rear-view mirror. The first cab he'd flagged had been an alpha, and he'd had to wave the man off. The man didn't want to go, and it was only by ducking into the next cab behind him that he escaped a confrontation. He'd known his heat was due sometime in the next week, but as it was only his second, he hadn't been able to pinpoint exactly when it would be. Figures it would happen when he was at work, and totally vulnerable without his gun.

He arrived at 221B Baker St, shoving a handful of bills at the driver as he pulled up to the kerb. "Keep the change," he shouted, and was out of the door at a run. Banging up the steps he was met by Sherlock at the top of the stairs. The man grabbed him and immediately buried his face in Johns neck and ear and pushed him up against the wall, hands wandering all over his body.

"I swear-" gasped Sherlock in between gulps of scent, "I could smell you coming-" he took John's mouth in a searing kiss.

John's mind was melting with the onset of his heat. His cock throbbed, and the loo roll in his pants was soaked through.

"John, you must bond with me. Now. It's perfect. You have to be in heat to do it, and I'm more than ready-"

John wrenched himself away from the alpha. Perhaps this was the angle behind the roses? "How could you tell, Sherlock? How could you tell I was going into heat this morning? Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Sherlock stared back at him. "I didn't! I didn't know! I decided to send you the flowers today because that's what an alpha wooing an omega does, isn't it? I had no idea you were this close to your heat!"

John gave him The Face - the look he gave Sherlock when he knew Sherlock was bullshitting him. The alpha slumped his shoulders and admitted, "okay, I knew it was going to be some time this week, and I timed the flowers so that it would plant the idea in your mind before your heat. But I _swear_ I had no idea it would be today!"

John was ready to believe him now. But bonding... was he ready? Was this his final decision? He'd hoped to make the decision with a clear mind, not one driven by uncontrolled lust...

Sherlock carefully, as if John was going to smack him at any moment, leaned in and wrapped him in a full-body hug. John could feel the massive erection his flatmate had, and couldn't help himself from leaning into it. Sherlock thrust gently back at him, and this continued until they had a steady rhythm going.

"Sherlock...I...I think I'm... going to come-"

Sherlock pulled back and growled with lust. "Do it." And he gripped John by the buttocks, under the trousers, pants and padding, kneading each one with his hands, helping John to thrust against him. The alpha eased one finger down to the cleft between and begain the rub against the slick, loosening hole he found there.

When Sherlock's finger breached John's anus, he ejaculated with some force right into his pants like a sodding teenager. "Oh...oh..." he panted quietly with each spurt. Sherlock's cock was positively _digging_ into his leg now.

"You needed that, didn't you," asked Sherlock, slyly.

John rested his head against the alpha's shoulder. He didn't answer. He pulled himself away from Sherlock with some effort, and staggered into the main room, whereupon he collapsed on the sofa, knowing he had only a few hours before the full impact of the heat hit him.

Sherlock busied himself by making sure all the windows were sealed and that the door downstairs didn't need a re-scenting. Mrs. Hudson had demanded that Sherlock wash the door of the remains of his scent-marking it, but he'd put it off for so long, and she was too repelled to do it herself, so it was in perfect order. They would have no alpha visitors this time.

"Sherlock! Sherlock get up here! We need to talk - oh god - before I lose my mind! FUCK!"

At this final expletive Sherlock jumped up the stairs by two to return to his omega (he'd already started calling him 'his' in his mind), who had grabbed Sherlocks's belstaff coat and was now vigorously humping it against the sofa.

"John. John. Give me the coat. You don't need the coat. I'm here!"

John rolled off it enough to allow Sherlock to grab it before it was overly soiled and hang it up.

"John, I want to bond with you. I feel we would be the right pairing. We get along better than I've gotten along with anyone in my life, and I find you the sexiest creature to roam the earth. I want you, I need you, and I WILL have you. Accept it."

John gasped as the words seemed to force his body into presentation position. Before he knew it he was on his knees and elbows, trousers and pants down, head cocked to the side for the bite. No, wait! He fought the instinct hard, and sat up on his knees, ignoring the gushing of his lubrication down his thighs and onto the rug.

"Sherlock. I want that. I. Want. You. Tobondwithme," he said the last words in a rush. "BUT!" he added, as Sherlock's face broke into a huge smile and he moved to push John back into position. John fought him.

"No, wait! I want it, but you still... still musn't knot me! I'm not- I'm not rea- not ready for kids!"

"Fine! No knotting. Yet," said Sherlock as he bodily shoved John back down so his bared arse was in the air for Sherlock's use. 

John finally just gave himself up to the heat, and to his lover, soon to be bond-mate. He could feel Sherlock shoving fingers into his arse, checking for lubrication and looseness, especially since this was so close to the start of the heat. He was thankful for such forethought on Sherlock's part.

When John was about ready to scream for it, finally he felt the huge blunt cockhead rubbing at his hole, easing the itch, taking the ache away. It entered him inexorably; he could feel each and every ridge and vein of the entire 10 inch shaft of him. For just a second the place where the knot would be was inside him, but Sherlock pulled back quickly, and placed his hand around the base as he had all those times before during John's last heat. God, wouldn't he love it when he could finally knot the omega! Sure to be absolute bliss.

Sherlock rested fully sheathed for a moment, feeling John's body rippling around him. Then he pulled back and began a steady rhythm, plunging into that tight body, feeling his balls, heavy with seed, swinging beneath him, and feeling John's own small testicles against the back of his hand. He realized that he was growling deeply from somewhere in deep in his gut, and knew that he would not last long.

John was literally being fucked across the floor. Dimly, he was aware that the carpet burn on his knees was going to be atrocious. He clamped his muscles down with each inward thrust that Sherlock made, and he was hyper-aware of the skin around his neck.

Sherlock was kissing all over John's back, adding little nips here and there, and John could feel him approaching the back of his neck. Sherlock had nosed around there before, but had not bitten there, due to the bond it would create. They would be bound for life when he did it; their scents would mix permanently, and all those around them, of every stripe, whould know that they had a mate who had spoken for them. This bond was rarely if ever broken, except through death. It would make the pair of them super-attuned to each other's thoughts and feelings, and would make them strive to please each other in a multitude of ways. The alpha would always have the balance of power in the relation ship, usually due to size, weight and aggression issues, but John had trust in Sherlock that he would be a good mate, and not mistreat him.

John was aware that they were both approaching orgasm. This was the time. It was imperative that they both orgasm when the bite occurred.

"Sherlock, I'm, I'm ready-"

Sherlock growled and pumped his hips faster. Unseen, Sherlock's balls were climbing up, becoming tight up against his body in preparation for ejaculation. 

Suddenly and with a feral snarl, Sherlock plunged his teeth into John's nape, breaking the skin and holding tight as the both of them reached shattering orgasms. Sherlock would have liked to be stroking John's back, but he had to keep his knot out of his mate, and he couldn't trust his body not to just shove all the way in without the hand holding him back. John cried out with a guttural sound as his own cock spurted onto the overly abused rug. 

The bite on John's neck hurt, but in a deeply pleasurable way. He could feel what felt like little flutters of thought rush by him, just out of reach. He felt like he could feel Sherlock orgasm from Sherlock's position. He felt _one_. He'd never felt this state before. He now realised that he'd always been half a person. Now he was complete.

Sherlock released the bite as he pulled his cock out of John, to pump his seed onto the rug instead of inside John, as requested. He lapped at the blood on the omega's neck, and as blood and saliva mixed, he felt the bond take a powerful hold on his mind and body. Protect him. He must protect John at all costs. He could feel the jittery little thoughts passing through John's mind like the skittering feet of mice on an attic floor.

Finally he fell forwards on John's body, and the two of them collapsed together onto the floor, just avoiding the puddle of their mixed secretions.  
And that was it.

They were bonded.

Except for their harsh breaths, silence reigned. Then Sherlock's phone bleeped.

"No," muttered Sherlock. "Not now." He reached for his trousers and pulled out his phone as John lay senseless on the floor beneath him. He flicked on the phone.

**Congratulations. MH & GL**

He snorted, and roused John enough so that he could see the phone as well. John shook his head and buried his face in Sherlock's neck.

They'd sort out the cameras again later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter discusses mpreg. But we all saw that coming, didn't we? ;p

Upon the cessation of John's heat, the thing they really needed to deal with was registering the bond with the Ministry of Population. They had mutually dismissed a formal bonding ceremony as being old-fashioned (in truth, Sherlock wanted as little chance as possible of Mummy getting her claws on John, and John didn't want Harry staggering drunkenly in front of Sherlock's relatives), so they had planned to keep it simple.

Luckily the wait was short at the bland government office, and within fifteen minutes of taking a ticket, the electronic voice came out of the loudspeaker, "A278 to room 12 please", and the pair of them soon found themselves in a bare office cubicle sitting across from a harassed-looking beta woman who welcomed them with a "congratulations on your bonding" as if by rote. The tiny space was dominated by the only thing in it that could be considered 'new' - a sleek-looking computer with a wand attachment. With no further pleasentries the woman asked John to bend over so that she could run the wand over John's neck.

John just stared at her for a moment as beside him Sherlock puffed up angrily, no doubt ready to deduce the woman's personal life to shreds, possibly rendering her a crying heap of flesh or gain himself a punch in the nose if not both in short order. John had seen it happen before. He put his hand over Sherlocks as he raised it to point at her.

"Hush, Sherlock. Not here; not now."

Sherlock deflated slightly but aquiessed after a moment. He dropped his hand.

John leant over the desk towards the woman and allowed her to scan the barely-healed bite on the nape of his neck.

"Right. Doctor John Watson, omega. 42. Bonded at his last heat too..." the woman paused as the information presumably came up on her screen. "...Sherlock Holmes, alpha, 37." She looked up over her eyeglasses as them. "Correct, yes?"

"Yes," John replied. Sherlock huffed beside him. John could feel his patience running out. 

"Right, yes. Have a seat, gentlemen," said the woman, waving to the two empty chairs before her desk. They sat.

"Again, congratulations on your bond. As you probably know, you have three heats in which to attempt to conceive a child. If you do not conceive in this time period, you will be assigned to a fertility specialist. If this fails after a two year period, the two of you will be checked into a breeding camp for intensive treatment. If after 2 years you have not conceived, your case will be put under review. Any questions?"

John's mouth had dropped at the first mention of the three heat deadline, and he stared at the woman throughout the rest of her speech with evident horror. Three heats? That was a good deal less than a year! That was no time at all! He thought they'd have longer than _that_! He turned to look at Sherlock to gauge his reaction, and was rather shocked to see nothing beyond dislike and contempt on his face, no surprise.

"Sherlock... did you- did you know about this?"

The alpha frowned even more deeply. "No, but I expected it. Any government that is going to force bonding and breeding on it's people is going to want it done as soon as possible."

The woman interrupted. "Yes, that's right. ASAP, as they say. As soon as you have confirmed conception with your doctor - or, in your case Doctor Watson, as soon as you've confirmed it for yourself, you are required to return here to the Ministry to register your happy news."  
The last few words were said in a patently false-cheerful voice. Being a beta, she was unable to conceive herself, so this job must have been a particularly unhappy one for her. But John didn't care. This was their _life_ they were talking about! How on earth would they bring up a baby in 221B? John had visions of a babbling child getting it's hands burnt by acid, poisoned by mold experiments and catching god-knew-what from the various bits of corpses laying about. 

The ride home in the cab was silent as death, and after a moment's hesitation, Sherlock took John under one arm and held him close, putting their faces side by side so that they could comfort each other with their combined scent.

oOo

"Well, this is it, isn't it? We've got to do it. We have to knot, and produce a child."

John and Sherlock were sitting in their usual chairs with a fresh cup of tea. Sherlock sipped his quietly for a moment, and then replied.

"I know you've never wanted to breed, John, at least not with me-"

"It's not that it's with you that there's a problem-" interrupted John. but Sherlock held up a finger asking for silence for a moment.

"--but can you put into words exactly what it is that you have against having a child? I at first thought it was as simple as a fear of knotting; I know some omegas can't bear the thought of being trapped, even to their mate for 20 minutes. But I don't think that's it. So it must be about the baby itself."

"Well-- yes."

Sherlock waited for him to go on, and when he didn't, the detective continued, "Is it a fear of carrying the baby? A fear of the effects of pregnancy? A fear of labour? Or in fact a fear of the part that comes after that - the 18+ years of bonded servitude to a small being made in our image?"

John just kind of stared at Sherlock for a long moment and then shifted uncomfortably and crossed his legs. "Yeah, um, I think you just summed the whole thing up right there."

"What, the last part?"

"No, all of it. Sherlock, I don't want to lose control of my body. I already lose control in my heats, but that's bearable because I can be with you. But you can't really share the burden of pregnancy. It's just not possible."

"Hmm," murmured Sherlock.

"Most of all though, how are we going to raise a baby _here_? I still don't make enough money to get us a better place-"

"Oh, dull. Leave that to me," replied Sherlock. Something had sparked in his mind. A favor owed, time to call it in.

"What? I can't leave it to-"

"Just don't worry about that."

John sipped at his tea held in a shakey hand. "All right. But I'm going to have to do a lot of thinking."

"That's only fair," replied Sherlock. "But John? Don't worry about the knotting part. I swear to you that you'll never have a better time. I'll fuck you like I've never fucked you before, and I'll fill you so full of come that you'll be having triplets."

John blanched. Crap, thought Sherlock, wrong thing to say. Well, he'd make it up to his mate. In spades.  
oOo

Late that night, Sherlock made some phone calls, and put the process of his plan into motion. He'd had to talk to the most hated of people, but it would be well worth it in the end.

They lay in bed together after wonderfully soothing mutual blowjob (Sherlock swallowed John's come, but didn't expect John to do the same - there was a difference between what an alpha and what an omega produced when it came to semen. For John, think teaspoons. For Sherlock, think buckets.) Post clean-up was always a time that John wanted to cuddle, and even though Sherlock would almost rather spend time analysing his case notes, he knew it was important to John, and so he stayed, usually until the omega went to sleep. Sometimes he even slept with him for the whole night, although that was rare. Luckily, when John's nightmares came, Sherlock was right there to soothe him back to sleep with tender touches and lazy kisses. He'd never thought it would be so, but he was _happy_ bonding.  
"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"I think I'm ready to do it. At my next heat, I mean."

Sherlock pulled back a bit so he could look John in the eyes. "Are you sure."

John nodded. "Yes. I want you to knot me. We have to do this, so we might as well get it on the road."

Sherlock nodded. "When you're ready, I'll be ready too."

"Okay."

oOo

John's next heat him him unawares yet again. He was at the local Sainsbury's picking up milk when the first dribble of lubrication ran down his leg. _Not again_ , he thought. He grabbed what he could into his basket and went to stand in line. The woman ahead of him wrinkled her nose and stared at him for a moment, and then turned her back to him. From behind him a man coughed in a way that was meant to get his attention. He ignored it. The man coughed again. John turned.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"Yeah mate, you can help me by getting your filthy self out of here. No one wants to smell your bloody stink, so get lost."

The man was an unbonded alpha. John was not surprised. This is exactly the kind of man who would have been gagging to mount him only two months ago, and now that he smelled the bond John had with Sherlock, suddenly he was filthy and disgusting. John turned his back to the man without a word. The sooner he could get out of here and plunge himself down on Sherlock's cock, the better. The itch and emptiness were increasing rapidly.

oOo

When John arrived home, it was to find Sherlock in a semi-frenzy. 

"Where were you? I can feel you, I can feel your heat, and you weren't answering your mobile, and I can smell others on you they didn't touch you did they?" This last bit came out in more of a shout than simply spoken. He pulled John up the stairs and pulled him down on the sofa, whereupon he wrapped his long arms and legs around John and humped his thigh.

"Oh god Sherlock that's good," John muttered, nosing his way through Sherlock's soft curls. "I need it. I need it now, Sherlock. I've been waiting long enough. I want your knot."

John could see how much this inflamed Sherlock, who began to attempt at pulling John's clothes off his body without unbuttoning or unzipping them. He was doing the same to the alpha. Making no progress at all, they finally jumped up and apart, only for Sherlock to crowd John up against the wall and fairly rip his clothes off of him.

"There! No clothes for the next six days, minimum!"

John didn't argue. He just pulled Sherlock's clothes off of him as fast as he could. The second his pants hit the floor, Sherlock was bearing down on John once again, crowding him with his body back onto the sofa. Their first time of each heat was always fast and furious, he had found; there was time later for slow and sensual, usually between heats, but the heat brought out the animal in both of them, and it was to be ragged sex with no holds barred this time around.

"Roll onto your belly. Right here on the sofa," demanded Sherlock, voice thick with animal lust. John noticed that Sherlock had put thick towels on the sofa, and probably had done so the moment he felt the call of John's heat starting. At least that would save the sofa from John's natural lubricant, which was beginning the fairly gush.

No sooner was he on his belly than Sherlock was on top of him, spreading his arse cheeks wide and _blowing_ cool air against the losening pucker. John shuddered in delight, gasping out Sherlock's name and several expletives.

Fingers were then inserted into his hole, sliding in and out, playing John like an instrument. Bare seconds passed before Sherlock judged him to be open and slick enough. The thick head of his cock shoved intently against John's anus, which gave way quickly, finally allowing Sherlock to bury himself balls-deep into his mate. They both groaned in satisfaction. For John, it was like that one last little spot that needed a scratch was nowing being taken care of. He looked over his shoulder as Sherlock pulled back out again slowly and then pushed in again. John thought he would simply pass out from how hot it was to see that huge thick cock being accomodated in his arse.

Sherlock bottomed out again, and then began to thrust in a steady pace, taking the time to kiss and nip and touch and pinch and rub John all over his body.

John pushed back against the larger man above him, trying to gain traction against the side of the sofa, as much to keep from being shoved off the sofa from the force of the thrusts as to participate actively. Sherlock was growling steadily against his shoulder, and John bared his scarred neck to Sherlock, who took the invitation and bit down over their bond-mark. He didn't break the skin this time, but just held on like he was holding John down and in place for a thorough fucking. 

"MINE," he growled into John's neck. John whined high in the back of his throat and agreeed.

"Yours yours only yours-"

Suddenly Sherlock buried himself deeply into John's arse and the omega became aware of the base of Sherlock's cock thickening, stretching the skin of his anus out. Sherlock shoved just that bit deeper, and forced the thickest part of the knot that was forming at the base of his prick into John's arse for the first time, effectively sealing the two of them together for as long as the next half hour. Sherlock gasped out one loud shout as he tipped over the edge and began to orgasm, starting a process that would continue the entire time that he was inside John's body. Pulse after pulse of Sherlock's seed was being expelled into John's rectum, filling him up.

Sherlock pulled them onto their sides so that they were spooning, and he grabbed John's cock and jacked it hard and fast. John was able to feel the twitches from the base of Sherlock's cock as he filled the omega up, and the sensation of fullness just kept growing as he raced towards his own orgasm. He tipped headlong over the side and several small spurts painted the towels beneath them and dripped over Sherlock's hand.  
Both men groaned as they fell back and rested. Sherlock played with John's nipples as John focused on what was still going on inside him. He tried to move a little bit away from Sherlock, just to see exactly how trapped he was, only to have Sherlock's hand clamp down on his chest.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sherlock murmured, and licked John's neck.

"Well, nowhere, apparently, with your great fat tool up my arse. I can't believe you're still coming."

"Oh ...ye-yeah-" stuttered Sherlock as another spasm hit him. The alphas really were the ones who lucked out on the biological scale of sexuality. Kind of unfair actually, mused John.

"Well, you feel fucking divine, and you can stay in there for the rest of my heat if you want," John said, smirking. He always thought clearer during his heats when he was full of cock. He guessed it was just the way he was made. When he thought about the next 7-10 days of intensive sexual hijinks to come, he closed his eyes in bliss. How could he ever have been satisfied without the knotting? Sherlock had been right, it really was the cherry on the top of the sundae, the perfect way to end a good fuck.

It was some 25 minutes before Sherlock's knot dissipated enough for his cock to slip out of John's arse, which was followed by a gush of semen pouring out onto the towels. Sherlock reached behind the sofa for something that John couldn't see. Then suddenly he felt stiff rubber penetrating his arse.

"Sherlock, what the hell?"

Sherlock had a shit-eating grin on his face. "Well, we want my come to stay inside you, right? Between goes you can wear this plug I bought."

"But Sherlock, I'll be walking around with your come sloshing around inside me for days!"

Sherlock grinned wider. "Just the way it should be."


	6. Chapter 6

It's about five weeks after the final day of John's last heat when Sherlock catches John rushing past him in the morning to empty what was already an empty stomach into the toilet. As his mate retched, Sherlock was already behind him with a chemist's pregnancy test.

"What?" asked John, wiping his mouth after a gargle of water. "Are you kidding? I'm not going to take that - it's too soon. No way will it show if I'm knocked up already. It typically tends to take 8 to 12 weeks for any sign of pregnancy to show in the omega."

This last was quoted by rote as if from a textbook. Sherlock backed down, as his mate had been overly stroppy for the last couple of days, and he didn't want to provoke any more door-slamming, it was disturbing several of Sherlock's experiments. But he knew he had to do something about it.

So two days later Sherlock found himself at four in the morning silently poking a needle into a sleeping John's arm to withdraw a blood sample. The omega frowned in his sleep and tried to brush the irritant from his arm, but Sherlock managed to block his motion with an elbow and extract the amount he needed. He had waited until John was sleeping his deepest, as god knows what the man would do if he caught Sherlock in the act of taking his blood by stealth. In fact he wasn't exactly sure _what_ he would tell John if he had to give positive results.

Sherlock tested the blood in the kitchen with the supplies and instruments he had stolen from Bart's, and felt a rush when the results came out. Positive. John's was pregnant.

When John woke up three hours later, Sherlock was sitting fully dressed in his usual chair. John shuffled sleepily over to start the kettle boiling. He was yawning and scratching his arm where Sherlock had taken the blood when he looked down at the counter and caught the paper with the results of the test printed on it. Sherlock watched mutely with steepled fingers as John froze, frowned, and then looked down at the arm he was scratching. His head jerked up and Sherlock was pinned by wide blue eyes.

"You!"

Sherlock was worried. This didn't look like it was going to go down so well.

"It was for the best, John."

"You - you took my _blood_?"

"I had to know, John. I had a feeling. Through the bond. Your scent is changing too. It smells wonderful, I might add."

John was shaking his head in disbelief. He looked ready to kill.

"Yes John, it's true. And I need you to calm down. You're a doctor, you know how bad it is to get upset with a child just beginning to grow inside you."

At this, John dropped his eyes to the floor, and took several long, loud huffs of breath, clearly trying to calm himself. After a few moments, he looked back at Sherlock.

"I should have taken the piss test when you asked. It is _so_ like you to just take my blood without asking. I should know better by now."

Sherlock nodded and then looked a little uncomfortable. "Is this a occasion in which an apology is appropriate?"

John was clearly incredulous. "I should fucking well say so!" he shouted.

Sherlock could feel waves of unease and something that he had never felt from John before, something he thought might be fear, coming through their shared connection. The alpha stood up uncertainly and approached John with wary steps, unsure if his hug was going to be met with a shot to the chin. But John accepted his attempt at comfort, and after a couple of moments of standing still and rigid as a stone, he slumped against Sherlock and rubbed his face against the taller man's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered.

Then, "oh crap," and John bolted from the room with his hand covering his mouth. 

It was going to be a long gestation.

oOo

John was in his barely in his 12th week before it became apparent to outsiders that John was up the duff. They had just arrived at a crime scene at Lestrade's behest when Donovan blocked their access to the body after sniffing loudly at them.

"I knew it. I just knew it wouldn't be long before he got your bun in the oven. Freak, what are you thinking? You can't bring a breeding omega to a crime scene!"

"What? Since when?" asked Sherlock petulantly. Which of course indicated to John that he did indeed know.

Right then Lestrade appeared from behind the curtain blocking the body from the gawking public. "Since the decree, Sherlock. I'm sorry, but she's right. Even I, when I become pregnant, will be desk-bound for the duration of my pregnancy."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Too much information, Lestrade. I don't want to know what you and my brother are up to."

Greg rolled his eyes and turned to address the doctor instead. "I'm sorry John. It's the rules now."

"Not like you cared about the rules before..." muttered Donovan from the background.

"Shut it," snapped Lestrade. He was clearly stressed.

"Listen," asked John, pulling the other omega aside. "Are you okay? How are things going with Mycroft?"

Greg sighed, flicking his eyes to a frowning Sherlock looming behind John protectively. "Well, you know about the decree. We've been trying, but we've had no luck yet. It we go past the deadline, we have hopes that Mycroft's position could broker us a little more time, but it doesn't help my nerves in the day to day, you know?

Anyway, congratulations, you two! I knew it wouldn't be long!" he said, putting on a cheerful face.

The Detective Inspector patted John on the shoulder and grinned at Sherlock. John smiled at him fondly. "If there's anything we can do, let us - er, me - know. This all has been a bit of a shock to my system, but I'll do anything I can to help. I can talk to the fertility specialist for you if it goes to that."

"Thanks, John. I'll try to visit you when I've got the time. Sherlock, we do still need you coming when I call. Do you think you'll be able to part yourself from John, since he can't come along?"

"I don't think it will be an issue."

John glanced at Sherlock wryly, but didn't say anything.

"Good. Now send John home in a taxi, and come do your thing. Goodbye, John."

It was going to be a _very_ long gestation.

oOo

John cradled his swollen stomach absently as the scenery rushed by. He was five months along and he and Sherlock were going on a road trip, renting a Range Rover to get them where they were going. Sherlock wasn't telling John where that was, but he was steadily driving west from central London, and they had just hit open pasture after the last reach of the suburbs.

"You still aren't going to tell me what this is about?" asked John, finding himself incredibly curious. It had been a long time since he and Sherlock had really gone anywhere together, so he was really enjoying himself. All the aches and swelling in his body were still there, but he felt them less when he had something besides the upcoming birth, and the problem about where they were going to live eating at his mind. Sherlock had stuck with his line about John not worrying about that aspect of their upcoming new lives, but he couldn't help himself. Baby-proofing 221B was next to impossible.

When they pulled up in front of a large stone cottage in the outskirts of Windsor, John turned to look at Sherlock. 

"Windsor? What are we doing in Windsor?" He'd never been there before, but it had looked lovely as they passed through, with the tall imposing castle and the quaint little streets around it. 

Sherlock ignored him, instead getting out of the car and then coming around to help John out of his seat on the other side. He was staring at the cottage intently, so John followed his eyes. It was fairly large, two-floored, had vines growing up it's walls and the windows had a red trim.

"Sherlock? What is this place? Why are we here?"

"Three bedrooms, large back garden with a tree and tire swing, purpose-built laboratory attached, protected by three levels of child safely locks."

John stared at him. Then at the house. Then back to Sherlock.

"Seriously?"

Sherlock smiled. "Less than an hour's drive from London, and when he goes to school at Eton, he'll still be near home."

John chuckled. "What are we going to do if it's a girl?"

Sherlock paused, obviously not having thought of this. It was so unlike him, John thought.

"We'll deal with that if it comes. What do you think?"

John was smiling more than he had for weeks. "I think it's wonderful, Sherlock? How did you manage it?"

"I called in a few favors."

"Must have been quite the favor," John replied.

"Well, yes. Let's go in." He produced a key and he inserted it in the door, the lock turning smoothly. But when he tried to open the door, he found that it was blocked from the inside. John saw him scowl, and then push the door harder. It opened slowly, with effort, and John saw the reason why.

Piled from the floor to the ceiling were baby supplies and furniture of every kind. There was barely room to move. John turned to see take in the surprise on Sherlock's face.

"You didn't put this stuff here?" asked John, slightly confused.

Sherlock frowned and shook his head. Suddenly he looked down and saw the note that had been slipped under the door. He picked it up and opened it carefully. John watched, hoping it wasn't something sinister. He'd had about enough of that sort of thing for a lifetime. For the moment, at least.

Sherlock read the paper, sniffed, and handed it to John.

_With congratulations on the coming addition to your family, and in announcement of our own. Cousins!_

_MH & GL _

John was delighted. Greg was pregnant! He turned to find Sherlock busy doing what could only be describe as 'casing the joint'.

"Sherlock, what are you looking for?"

"Cameras. This is Mycroft we're talking about."

Oh, lovely, thought John. But then he smiled again. Exactly. Lovely.

END


End file.
